Queen's Blade: A Medieval Tale
by Scheister
Summary: A tale in which an unorthodox knight enters the realm of Queen's blade, read the story of how a man of medieval Europe struggles in a world of magical wonder, beautiful women, and dangers both visible and hidden. First story and summary, hope you enjoy and please give me feedback. Disclaimer: Obviously I do not own Queen's Blade or it's characters, or any historical people.
1. Chapter 1

**_Queen's Blade: A Medieval Tale_**

_Chapter I._

It was the year 1175, and the crusades were flaring more than plague rash on a peasant's arse. Jon of Bavaria was wounded, tired, and very irate about his circumstances. Europe had thrown the mother of all fits about the Saracens controlling the Holy Lands, and the church had riled up every 'God fearing' kingdom it could to pursue a ludicrous and bloody war with the Arab peoples. "_I shouldn't be surprised," _Jon thought to himself grimly, looking at the wounded and dead around him, the sounds of battle, pain, and struggle not far off, "_The church and the kings get to reap the benefits if they win, and if they lose... well, who cares about some peasants and minor noblemen?"_ Tyre was a mess, it was bad enough that the bloody pope had decided to have a massive war between continents, now they were causing massacres and razing cities, he had been sent by his father as a test and show of good will, after all, favors were ripe for the taking, and if he could get some fame and fortune, all the better. Still, he was not used to the climate, or the people for that matter, there were much more interesting things he could be doing right now, such as enjoying his library or strolling through the forests at night, when he felt most at ease, however, tradition dictated that he obey his superiors and his father unless they proved incompetent or corrupt, and Joel had shown no signs of either happening.

Sighing heavily, he got up from his kneeling position and kept to the shadows, walking in a calm, methodical manner, the moon was at it's zenith, allowing him to see clearly, not that there was anything pleasant to look at, what with corpses everywhere. "_Of all the times for an attack to happen, it had to be at night." _He thought to himself, and he'd been finally getting some sleep. Right now, he had to get to his fellow crusaders and join with them, most likely to repel the attack, it was a shame the soldiers with him had been killed, they weren't that bright, but seemed like good men all in all. It was while he was walking that he stumbled upon a scene that would mark a determining point in his future.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2: When One Door Closes…_**

To say that the sight in front of Jon disturbed him would have been an understatement to say the least. In front of him were several of his fellow crusaders and a small family, or the survivors of said family at least, the two men, an elderly one and a younger one, had been slain, blood flowing from their wounds, limbs distended from being broken by the blows of maces. The other two civilians, both women (although one of them could only just be called that) were being assaulted by the soldiers, four of them were simple footmen, one was a knight as he was, and the last was none other than Lord Reinhardt of Saxony, re-belting himself as the cries of the victims were sounding through the bloodstained streets.

Jon stepped out of the corner he'd been at, enraged, he quickly closed the distance between himself and the other men. The knight, who had been keeping watch, stopped him. "What is the situati-""My men are dead or scattered, I escaped the Saracens who attacked us. What are **you **doing?" Jon growled through gritted teeth. Reinhardt, noticing Jon, walked over, complete self-assurance on his countenance, "Simply punishing the heathens for their ways good man. Besides, I like to allow my soldiers some… entertainment." A shriek rent the air, only to be cut off by a blow from one of the footmen who was having his "turn" at the victims, laughs and grunts sounding from the Saxons. Jon glared at the lord, "Stop them, now." Reinhardt seemed amused by the statement, "Why should I stop them?" "They don't deserve this, heathen or not, nobody deserves such a fate." Reinhardt laughed, apparently finding such a thing hilarious beyond all things. "You can't be thinking that **these**," he said, pointing at the women, "Are as worthy as we righteous soldiers… Can you?"

That was when Jon lost all reason.

For months he'd been fighting, watching men die, killing men, watching the hatred and pain, the sorrows that were occurring because of the war unfold before his eyes. To know that he was part of such a thing disgusted him, made him question everything that was around him, and now this lordling, this man who was noble only by name, was telling him that they were **_righteous _**in what he and his underlings were doing? "_Enough"_ He thought, and so, he decided to fight, knowing that he could not win, and most likely would not survive his decision.

Drawing the dagger on his belt, Jon drove the blade into Reinhardt's cheek, eliciting a howl of pain from him; the other knight drew his mace, and with tremendous force, brought it down upon Jon's arm, shattering the bones in it. Jon snarled at him, and charged the larger man, using his good right arm to grab his sword, and strike at his exposed neck, only to be blocked by his opponent's left arm, the blade scraping along the armor. The other soldiers, hearing the commotion, rushed out and attacked Jon from behind, one man stabbing him through the leg with his spear, causing him to buckle to his knees, the others beat him, some with the blunt edges of their weapons, others with their fists and legs, pummeling him into submission, braking his ribs and cracking his collarbone. His leg and arm useless, Jon could not form any defense against this, and soon, he knew no more.

He awoke in a cell, pain driving over his body as an ocean would over the wreckage of a ship. Coughing, he noticed blood in his slobber, knowing that this boded ill for him, Jon closed his eyes. "_So, this is the end for me, eh? Well, worse ways to go I suppose..." _"Dying already? Tsk, and here I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that." Jon's eyes snapped open, where the cell had been lightless before, there was now what appeared to be a mass shape of glowing mist with him. "I was going to appear as a burning bush to you, but I've already done that." John's eyes widened, this couldn't be! "God?" he whispered, disbelief in his voice. "Some call me such, yes." The Mist said, a bemused tone to It's voice, "I am here because I have a task for you, Jonathan of Bavaria, a task in a land similar, yet quite different from anything you have faced." Curious, Jon asked, "Why me? You can get others better than I." "It's true; there are others who are stronger, wiser, and more pious certainly, those who don't shirk prayers to rut in the hay with the blacksmith's daughters." Jon felt the heat of embarrassment on his face at that. "But you have the required skills and mindset to accomplish what I want, and you get to have a fresh start at life in the bargain." Jon thought about this. "_Well, I'm a dead man the way I'm going, after what I've done, there's no going back." _He did not regret his actions, however, just that he could not save the civilians. "What must I do?" Jon said. "As stated before, you are to go into this land, from then on, well; you'll find the problems as you go." "That's it? I just have to fix things?" Jon asked incredulously. "Won't be easy as that, but that's the gist of it, yes." Seeing no other alternative, Jon decided, "I'll do as You command, Lord."" _After all, he's God, I can't really say 'no' to Him, can I?" _The mist began to enclose him, and his vision turned hazy. "Good, don't fail Me, and have fun, Jonathan of Bavaria."


End file.
